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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633758">$10</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/formalizing/pseuds/formalizing'>formalizing</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Supernatural Tumblr Writing [23]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Past Referenced Non-Con, Dead John Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Violence, Tagged With Rape/Non-Con Due to Underage Character, Underage Prostitution</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2016-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2016-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:20:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/formalizing/pseuds/formalizing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If some teen-hungry pervert with money to spend drops right into his lap while he’s stocking shelves off the books at the 24-hour supermarket for less than minimum wage, Sam’s not going to look that gift horse in its rotten mouth.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sam Winchester/OMC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Supernatural Tumblr Writing [23]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/574168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>$10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the following anon ask: "hi, sorry to ask, but can you please write some hooker!sam, there just isn't enough"</p><p>Originally posted <a href="https://all-these-formalities.tumblr.com/post/141214859389">on Tumblr</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam always figured that by 17, he’d be thinking seriously about college; collecting brochures, looking into scholarships, doing some odd jobs to get the application fees together. And maybe Dean would’ve shot him down when he brought up leaving together, maybe he would’ve had to do it alone and angry and missing him, but college was his chance—his one shot at anything halfway normal—and he would’ve taken it anyway.<br/>
<br/>
He thinks he’d have chosen somewhere in the corners of the country. They spent all their time criss-crossing through the middle, never really spent much time at the far ends; it might have been nice to be close to the ocean for a while. He probably would’ve wound up at a state college but, just for fun, maybe he would’ve tried sending an application in to a top-tier school like Stanford. And he’d had the grades for it, whenever they stuck around in one place long enough, he might even have gotten accepted.<br/>
<br/>
But he hasn’t really thought about college outside of his dreams since John Winchester died.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, <em>fuck</em>—fuck, yeah. C’mon, suck it.”<br/>
<br/>
As if Sam needs to be told to suck. He doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a near-thing.<br/>
<br/>
He doesn’t usually do this in the cities—the money’s less because the supply is more, and it’s always higher risk outside a one sheriff size of town. But if some teen-hungry pervert with money to spend drops right into his lap while he’s stocking shelves off the books at the 24-hour supermarket for less than minimum wage, Sam’s not going to look that gift horse in its rotten mouth.<br/>
<br/>
“Gonna come right down your throat, you little whore.”<br/>
<br/>
It’s usually the most warning he gets, if he gets one at all. That and the guy’s sweaty hands fisting knots into his hair as he pumps his hips more frantically. Most of them like to ram right to the back when they blow so they can pretend they’re painting his tonsils, that they can fill him so full he chokes on it.<br/>
<br/>
Sam hasn’t choked on a dick since he was 15 and still gagged and cried a little every time.<br/>
<br/>
But he makes the wet, clenching kind of sounds they want to hear, pretends to struggle against their grip just a little so they can force him back down on their cock as he looks up with those teary, ‘no, mister, please’ eyes that always make their balls draw up. Sometimes there’s a few extra bucks in it if he plays along.<br/>
<br/>
The guy shudders from his shoulders to his toes as he fills the condom, hands going lax and finally falling away from Sam’s head as he mutters “good boy, that’s a good boy” just like they all do.<br/>
<br/>
Once he’s empty, the guy leans back against the wall to catch his breath, dick still hanging out of his pants, condom tied off and tossed a little ways down the alley with the rest of the throw-away things like old trash and swollen-lipped boys on their knees. Sam spits the taste of latex from mouth before he gets up, knees damp where they’d been in the dirt. Trying to brush the mess away just stains the only halfway decent pair of jeans he has for work. <br/>
<br/>
He gives up on wiping away the evidence and grabs the gum pressed against the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his back pocket, snaps a piece through the foil backing and cracks it slow between his teeth. The flavor bursts out and burns over his tongue as he looks up at the sky, just starting to lighten from black to blue.<br/>
<br/>
Dean’ll still be up when he gets back to the tiny cupboard of an apartment they call home, because he doesn’t sleep if Sam’s not in shouting distance. He’ll give him that pained look when he sees the stains and smells the lingering disguise of suspiciously strong mint on his breath. Big brother’s no stranger to the dirty-kneed gutter stink of a back alley blowjob. He’d probably still be the one putting his pretty mouth where the money is if he hadn’t caught a violent one—some nameless, faceless asshole that saw the cold, hungry kid trying to look like he wasn’t scared in his too-big leather jacket and too-small jeans for the easy mark he was.<br/>
<br/>
You can hardly see the scars on his skin after 4 years, but the deeper ones that make him quiet and nervous and scared of dark streets and friendly strangers just won’t heal. His hands still shake from the head trauma, sometimes, as he touches them to Sam’s face and murmurs, “Never again, Sam. Promise me.”<br/>
<br/>
They both know it’s bullshit each time Sam says “I promise” when the rent is coming due and the fridge is nearly empty, but it soothes the tremor in Dean’s hands all the same, so he’ll keep saying it.<br/>
<br/>
Sam turns to head back inside, but he stops short when the guy reaches out and grabs his arm.<br/>
<br/>
Even with what happened to Dean, Sam still had to learn the lesson that sometimes they want more than pretend, that sometimes they take without asking, the hard way. But the first time he came home with a split lip he wouldn’t stop chewing at and bruises he couldn’t talk about, Dean gave him dad’s old switchblade, showed him with those shaking hands how much force it actually takes to do any real damage, and Sam’s not the one who cries anymore.<br/>
<br/>
His free hand’s ready on the blade in his other pocket, but the guy is just panting ‘wait, wait’ as he digs out his wallet.<br/>
<br/>
He pulls out a couple bills, waves Lincoln’s crumpled face in front of Sam’s like he’s a dog and this guy’s got a treat for him if he’ll sit up and beg.<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll give you another ten if you tell me when your next shift is?”<br/>
<br/>
It’s hardly the worst thing Sam’s done for ten bucks.</p>
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